


Rotten, Rotten

by Estenyn



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Also there is going to be, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Gore, Body Worship, Canon Era, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Many background relationships, Medical Procedures, Mostly only heard through walls or from behind some kind of barrier but it'll be there, Multi, Near Death Experiences, No seriously this is a fic about, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Rough Sex, Trans Feuilly, Violence, Zombies, unsafe binding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 10:31:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14078949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estenyn/pseuds/Estenyn
Summary: "The ground here seems like it could sink beneath my feet.”“You aren’t wrong.”In which Jehan Prouvaire and their companions watch in horror as the dead break free from their graves, and they are forced into a different sort of struggle to survive. They are forced to question themself, discover some painful truths about the world, and truly come to terms with human mortality. And in the midst of it all, a vicious stranger who calls himself Montparnasse.Somewhere, in the darkness beyond where your eyes could ever see, the earth is beginning to ripple like a disturbed pond.





	Rotten, Rotten

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first Les Misérables fic! This is going to contain some pretty gory material and if you're not sure you can handle it, now might be a good time to stop. This first chapter has no warnings, but in following chapters you can skip to the bottom and read the notes there for warnings which WILL contain plot details for that chapter. I fully intend to give fair warning about everything you'll be reading, considering that this is going to contain explicit violence, sex, and a hell of a lot of death. I hope you'll enjoy the ride with me. 
> 
> Now, let us join a young poet with a slight frame and an intrepid spirit, and see what trouble they have found themself in today…

Cobblestones gave way to grass as the sky began to swarm with storm clouds. Quiet booted feet walked with purpose into the cemetery, bright brown eyes glancing over the shoulder of the silent being they belonged to - perhaps the glimpse of a ghost was what those eyes sought, or the glimpse of a living soul walking after them, but who could tell what truly went on in the mind of Jehan Prouvaire? Long ginger hair was pulled into a sloppy braid and tugged over their left shoulder as they hurried through what they now supposed was an ill-chosen shortcut. 

“If I had known it was going to rain,” they murmured to themself, “I would have stayed at home! The ground here seems like it could sink beneath my feet.”

“You aren’t wrong.” 

Jehan turned so fast their braid whipped over their shoulder and around to smack directly into their face. Their cheeks turned red with embarrassment as they regarded the stranger who had spoken.

Tall, or at least able to appear that way to the very tiny Jehan, with high cheekbones and a good nose and porcelain-fair skin, shadow-darkened green eyes that seemed sharp and attentive, and a pair of reddish lips curved into a frown. The only thing Jehan could seem to think was that those lips would look much better curved upwards instead.

Jehan pressed a palm to their chest to calm their heart, which had picked up its pace when they were startled. 

“You surprised me, fair stranger!” They tried to laugh, but began to grow a little nervous when the unknown fellow did not respond.

“I often do that to people.” 

As the stranger began walking past them, Jehan turned to keep up. This was far too interesting to let things go now - a chance meeting in a cemetery? What a tale this could be if they keep the conversation spinning!

“Who are you?” They decided to ask.

“Nobody you need concern yourself with, little man.”

That, they could not allow.

“I’m afraid you are mistaken. I am not, in fact, a man,” they informed the stranger. They needed something to call this person, ‘stranger’ was simply too impersonal. “I am not a woman, either. Please use neutral words to describe me whenever possible-“ A split-second pause. Something, anything, to call this dark, mysterious-

A loud caw interrupted both their spoken sentence and train of thought. A large, rather ruffled looking crow was perched atop a nearby grave, and it cawed again, even louder than the first time. Both Jehan and the stranger stared at it, surprised for a second or two, before the stranger picked up the conversation, apparently equally as ruffled as the feathers of the black bird beside them.

“Fine, then. Neutral words it is for you,” the stranger said coolly. “Who are you? You are far too brave to be human.”

“Consider me one of the dead, then. I am called Jean Prouvaire - my friends call me Jehan. What should I call you?” Jehan couldn’t help but ask, after all. No name seemed fair enough for this fellow, or at least not one they could come up with. The stranger cast his eyes about in response. 

“You may call me Montparnasse,” he said, firm in his reply. 

Jehan couldn’t help but laugh a little, and spoke again, “Are you calling yourself that or is it truly your name?”

The stranger -Montparnasse - turned to Jehan with a catlike grin, his lips curling almost viciously. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He asked, and in mere moments, Montparnasse had vanished from sight behind a large gravestone. Jehan half suspected he was a ghost and had never truly been there at all. They stood there frozen, silent - it wasn’t until a church bell could be heard ringing that they managed to shake themself into movement. 

Jehan was late by now, they realized, as they heard the clanging that resounded throughout the air, and they nearly leapt into action, rushing towards the other side of the cemetery. They muttered a vague prayer that they would not be as late as they knew Grantaire would be tonight.

Night was indeed beginning to fall. The sun had sunk already, and the blue tinge of twilight was already darkening to purple. The few clouds patterning the sky retained the pinks and oranges of the sunset, but those too were turning to navy. The air felt thick, and the heat of the summer seemed to only make it damp.

Jehan reached the café Musain only a little later than intended, but by then their friends had already begun discussions. Alas, Grantaire had beaten them to the upstairs meeting room, but had only gotten one drink so far and was still nursing it as he stared at the back of Enjolras’ head, smiling faintly at the ferocious young man he had recently been caught kissing. Grantaire took a long drink from his bottle and lounged back against the wall behind his stool, hiding the spreading grin on his face in a failed attempt to maintain his usual attitude - or at least a facade of it. Jehan couldn’t help but smile too at the sight, even as Combeferre looked up and frowned at them while pushing his glasses to their proper place on the bridge of his nose.

“What kept you, Prouvaire?” Combeferre asked, stepping away from where he had been poring over a worn map with Enjolras to look them over. The curly-haired fellow remained in front of his map, mumbling to himself and tapping a particular spot on the parchment, unaware of the goings-on around him.

Jehan smiled a little and thought for a moment about how to respond. Ambivalence swept through them like a river as they weighed their options. Should they tell Combeferre about Montparnasse - would he even believe them? Jehan mentally shook their head and began to speak.

“I took what I thought would be a shortcut, but it turned out that it wasn’t very short after all. I apologize for my tardiness,” Jehan added, glancing over Combeferre’s shoulder at somebody they both knew well - Courfeyrac, who was attempting to get Enjolras’ attention. They cracked a smile and said, “You should go convince your lover to leave our fearless leader to his work - lest Courfeyrac end up with a sore cheek once Enjolras is startled out of his trance.”

At that, Combeferre quickly turned away and began pulling Courfeyrac’s attention to himself. Jehan couldn’t help but listen in on the things the young men said, their smile spreading wider over their face. 

“Coco, really, he’s working so hard, it’s not polite to interrupt the poor man,” Combeferre said, daring enough to use a loving nickname around their friends.

“Ferre, really,” Courfeyrac started, imitating his partner’s cadence just to tease him, “I was simply trying to convince him to drink something and rest his eyes. I don’t need both of you complaining about eyeglasses!”

Jehan turned away when Feuilly, their dear friend, called to them from where he was kneeling on the opposite side of the room, attempting to reattach the leg of a chair. Bossuet stood nearby, a little embarrassed, desperately looking around him. Jehan mused for a moment that he must be searching for Joly, who was well hidden behind Grantaire’s larger frame and very engaged in conversation with the half-drunk cynic. They pulled their braid over the opposite shoulder from the one it had been resting on and began weaving through the crowd of their friends, dancing over Marius Pontmercy’s shoes when they were inconveniently in Jehan’s path. They let out a laugh when they got close enough to hear Bossuet’s sincere apologies for breaking the chair when he tripped over it and Feuilly’s mildly annoyed grumbles of understanding, but that really, Bossuet should be apologizing to somebody else.

“Good evening, friends! Did you call for me, Feuilly?” Jehan asked, bending down to watch their friend’s work. 

“I did, as a matter of fact. Can you fetch me a light? I don’t trust Bossuet to keep himself from dropping it at the moment,” Feuilly said in his slightly accented lilt. Jehan quickly did as they were told, holding the light steady as Feuilly managed to wedge the chair leg back into place. Bossuet breathed a sigh of relief.

“Don’t tell Joly or our Chetta. I will never live it down…” Bossuet trailed off, eyes wide as he imagined what could happen if his two steady loves ever heard what happened. Said loves, obviously, in reality, would simply sigh and shake their heads. 

“My lips are sealed,” Feuilly muttered, standing up and stretching as Bossuet hurried away to find Joly. 

“About what?” Asked a new voice from behind the pair of gingers.

Jehan jumped a little, but not so high as Feuilly, at the sound of Bahorel’s gravelly tones. Bahorel himself loomed over them, smiling at the pair with kindness and, in the case of Feuilly, a bit more affection than was proper for a pair of friends. Feuilly himself stammered out an excuse, his panicked eyes landing on Jehan before he next to fled to interrupt Grantaire and Joly. Jehan stifled a laugh - poor Feuilly, too lovestruck these days to even speak to the object of his affections. Bahorel blinked after the man in confusion and forgot to say goodbye to Jehan as he walked away. Jehan watched the two for a few minutes as they sort of chased each other around and around the back room of the café, never quite meeting each other’s eyes, nor even truly speaking to each other.

Enjolras’ voice pierced the air like a rapier, and gathered the students in the room around the map to discuss their plan - Jehan was too distracted to fully pay attention to their friend and instead sat in a corner, half listening and half lost in thought. They glanced through the large second-story window to their left and pulled a thin, well-worn notebook and the stub of a pencil from their pockets and began writing, crossing out lines or phrases that didn’t fit like the rest. Jehan muttered as they worked, slowly allowing the scritch-scratch of their pencil to drown out the voices of their friends. They trusted that if anything truly important happened, Feuilly would catch them up - besides, they had something, or rather someone, else on their mind. Jehan managed to write a simple sonnet made of contrasting light and dark in the time it took for their meeting to come to an end.

It wasn’t until Gavroche, the sweet little street boy they had all taken under their wings, approached that Jehan realized what the time was. Most of the room was now empty, and only Grantaire, Enjolras, Combeferre, and the gamin remained with Jehan. 

“What’s on your mind today, Monsieur Prouvaire?” Gavroche asked, smiling mischievously. “I saw you coming out of that graveyard today - you looked very preoccupied! Tell me, did you meet somebody interesting? What was he like?”

“Why do you assume it was a ‘he,’ little Gavroche?” Jehan asked. An embarrassingly long silence reigned at that admission, before Gavroche’s eyes widened and both of them recognized Jehan’s mistake.

“Aha! So you did meet someone!” Gavroche crowed, gesticulating at Jehan for a few moments after, overwhelmed with his triumph.

“I-I never said that!” Jehan stammered quickly, shoving their pencil stub into the inner crease of the notebook and slapping it shut as loudly as possible to distract from the rising blush on their neck and cheeks. They pressed it into their pocket quickly and stood, bustling to the staircase across the room. Grantaire smirked knowingly at them from his seat, drumming his fingers against the bar beside him. Jehan pointedly looked away, cleared their throat, and began to descend. 

In the dimly lit room below stood Courfeyrac, Joly, and Bossuet. Jehan felt rather embarrassed - not only had a sneaky child caught them up in an exchange that had gone less than well, they had been so distracted they had forgotten to say goodbye to Feuilly, who must’ve gone home quickly in order to rest after such a long day. Joly’s voice suddenly broke through Jehan’s train of thought, causing them to look up and listen to what was said.

“All I meant was that it was strange, Courfeyrac, nothing more!” Joly exclaimed, wringing his hands as Bossuet retrieved the smaller fellow’s cane from the other side of the room.

“I don’t dispute that, my dear Joly, I simply don’t smell it,” Courfeyrac responded courteously, smiling gently and waving his hands in a mildly encouraging manner, though his eyes seemed to beg for Bossuet to hurry up and get Joly on his way.

“Just smell the air for yourself! Wait, forget I suggested that, it might kill you…” 

Bossuet strode over to interrupt his fussing dear, cane in hand. He smiled and said, “Come now, Joly, we should hurry home. You can cover your mouth and nose as we walk.” Joly nodded a little as Bossuet spoke, accepting his cane from his partner’s hands and leaning on it a little in relief.

They called out a farewell to the little cluster of people as Gavroche thundered down the steps, swinging himself around on the bannister to keep his momentum. The gamin barreled right into Jehan with little hesitation, then grinned up at them and didn’t bother to apologize, just dashed out and away. Jehan laughed faintly and followed at their own pace, breathing in the nighttime air as the café faded from view behind them.

* * *

Somewhere, in the darkness beyond any light’s reach, the earth began to ripple like a disturbed pond.


End file.
